Luke decided it was best to let Gus take the lead. He wasn’t altogether sure how this visit could help matters.
Gus led the way through the works entrance. A man in a hi-viz jacket was leaving a Portakabin ten yards inside the compound on their left.
“Can I help you, gents?” he said.
“Wiltshire Police,” said Luke. “We need to speak to someone in charge, please.”
“That’ll be me. Bob Frisk. This is my business.”
“Have you been here long, Mr Frisk?” asked Gus.
“Call me Bob. The Grand National jokes have worn thin over the years.”
“Have you, Bob?” asked Gus.
“I opened this place in 1990. Okay, let’s get it out of the way. That was a good year for people called Mr Frisk, wasn’t it?”
“It won’t heal if you keep picking at it, Bob,” said Gus. “Can we discuss the eighteenth of March, seven years ago? The day a woman died in her car, not forty yards from where we’re standing. Were you here that day?”
“I was,” said Bob. “The police evacuated eighty percent of my workers and asked each of us if we’d seen anything. Nobody saw a thing.”
“Did you have many visitors that day?” asked Gus.
“We don’t keep a log,” said Bob. “We offer a service that appeals to the businesses on this site. People are always popping in with an urgent job. They might want a replacement part for a vital piece of kit they use or a simple repair. So, our gates are always open. We could survive with the work this site generates, but we don’t turn away jobs for private individuals or businesses from anywhere in the city. We’ve got an excellent reputation for efficient service.”
“Have you ever done work for the Wilton House estate?” Gus asked.
“I don’t recall them approaching me,” said Bob Frisk. “It wouldn’t do any harm to add them to our clientele. Almost like having ‘By Royal Appointment’ on our letter heading.”
“Although you don’t log visitors in and out, surely you record the jobs you’ve done to raise invoices?” asked Luke.
“You need to speak to Jasmine in Accounts. Don’t worry; it’s not far. She’s in the Portakabin. Second office on the right.”
Gus watched Bob and his hi-viz jacket disappear into the machine shop to their right. No wonder nobody heard anything that day. There was a high level of activity inside.
Gus and Luke walked up the steps to the portacabin and went inside. Luke knocked on the second door on the right.
“Jasmine?” he said as he opened the door.
Luke had expected a younger woman.
“Yes, dear?”
“Bob said you could help us trace invoices for work done in 2011,” said Luke.
“Did he now?” said Jasmine. “It depends on who’s asking.”
“We’re from Wiltshire Police,” said Luke.
“I knew he couldn’t get away with it forever,” sighed Jasmine. “I prayed it wouldn’t come out until I retired in three years.”
“Jasmine,” said Gus, “we’re the police, not HMRC. Our case doesn’t concern the cash-in-hand jobs Bob does for friends on the site. We won’t breathe a word, honest.”
“Right, so when did you say it was?”
“Monday, the eighteenth of March in 2011,” said Gus.
Jasmine pushed herself up from her chair and walked to a rank of grey metal filing cabinets.
“It’s always the bottom drawer,” she complained. Luke could tell that bending over to retrieve the correct folder could prove difficult and embarrassing.
“Let me help, Jasmine,” he said. “How are the folders labelled?”
“You’re a lifesaver, young man. Are you married?”
“I am,” said Luke.
“Just my luck. March 2011 should be the fifteenth file back.”
Luke found it in seconds and handed it to Jasmine.
“The eighteenth, you said. We were busy that day. What name are you looking for?”
“Street,” said Gus.
“Nothing under that name,” said Jasmine, flicking through the folder. “Any idea what type of job it was we did for this firm?”
“Were there any running repairs for a private individual?” asked Gus.
“A Mr Jackson wanted a replacement part for a ride-on mower,” said Jasmine. “The customer brought the damaged item in on Friday. The machine shop supervisor decided he couldn’t salvage it, so we made a new part. It was a simple job; we charged the customer fifteen pounds. They paid in cash when they collected it that day.”
“I don’t suppose the file mentions what time they collected their order?” asked Gus.
“No, we wouldn’t record that detail.”
“Let me return the file for you, Jasmine,” said Luke.
“Bless you, dear. Is that all I can do for you both?”
“You’ve been a great help,” said Gus. “Many thanks.”
Gus and Luke left Jasmine in Accounts and walked back outside. Bob Frisk wasn’t in sight.
“Onwards to Duffield’s Funeral Home, Luke,” said Gus.
“Arthur Jackson, guv? Could it be him?”
“Patience, Luke. Let’s see what Maurice Duffield has to say first.”
They walked to the next premises on Stephenson Road.
“This used to be a gym?” asked Luke.
“Hard to imagine, isn’t it?” said Gus. “The offices are around the side.”
Maurice Duffield looked up when they walked through the door. He didn’t look pleased to see them. Gus thought that was just as well. If they had come here to arrange a funeral, it wouldn’t do for Maurice to jump out of his chair with a beaming smile.
“Was there something else we can help you with, Mr Freeman?”
“You’ve made significant changes here since you took over, Mr Duffield,” said Gus. “Can you recall what the security arrangements were when it was a gym?”
“They had a five-digit entry code on the front door members received to enable them to enter,” said Maurice. “Each member had an individual locker assigned to them, accessed by a key. The showers and changing rooms were at the rear.
